


Like, Totally A Modern Carmen Salavino

by Araminta Carrington (Dargie)



Series: Araminta's Horseman Epic [2]
Category: Highlander
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dargie/pseuds/Araminta%20Carrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bowling: The sport of kings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like, Totally A Modern Carmen Salavino

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in a series of related stories about what the Horsemen get up to when murder and mayhem become wearisome. The first is "Las Vegas Night at Our Lady of the Perpetual Indulgence" and the last is "Hokey Pokey." You can read them out of order, of course, but they might not make any sense. They might not make much sense in order either.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into these things, Methos," Duncan said unhappily. It wasn't so much that he minded getting stared at – he was used to some frank looks of appreciation – it was the quality of the stares, the air of "DID YOU SEE THOSE WEIRD GUYS???" that bothered him.

"You need to look like part of the team, I explained all this, Duncan. It's important. Our sponsor expects a certain standard."

"And that's another thing: "Al's Haus O' Havoc?" What's that all about?"

"Al is a purveyor of very fine weaponry, and a very generous sponsor."

"Forgive me if I find that less than reassuring." He stole a quick look in his rear-view mirror and grimaced at the sight of his hair standing up in multi-colored spikes. "I look like a mutant."

"You look like a team member."

"That's what I said."

"Well thank you mister I'm-so-much-better-than-the-rest-of-you." Methos lapsed into a sulk.

"Okay, I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Okay I'm not sorry. I can't believe you made me do this."

"We made a deal, Duncan. If you don't want to honor it…if you don't want to help the team to victory…if you want the lamp back…"

"NOOOOOOO" Duncan moaned and the car danced a little. "No, it's okay. Forget I said anything."

He stole a glance at Methos who seemed placated, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief. When the double feedback burnout on the bingo hall prize lamp ended, so apparently had the enchantment on it. Mac found himself the proud owner of a butt-ugly lamp he no longer wanted within a thousand yards of any place he was living. Unfortunately no one else wanted it either, not even the garbage men. Finally Methos offered him a deal: the lamp would…disappear, if Duncan would agree to bowl with The Horseman League against their greatest challenge: The Shoppers.

"I wouldn't have asked, only…"

"What?"

"Well we lost one team member during the last league night. They've apparently got a ringer. I don't know who it is, but I've heard stories…"

"Wait, how'd you lose a team member while bowling? It's not what I'd call a dangerous sport."

"Oh it was nothing."

"When you say it that way I'm sure it was something. What happened?" Duncan pulled the T-Bird into a space behind the bowling alley as far from the security lights as he could get.

"He missed an easy spare and Kronos crushed his head between two bowling balls." Methos got out and opened the trunk. He pulled two black leather bowling bags out of it and handed one to Duncan. "That's the last mortal we accept on our team. Ready?"

"No," Duncan said, but Methos ignored him. Not only did he look like a mutant with his hair mapping out the probable route to a parallel universe, but he hated the black leather pants and black sateen shirt with "Horseman Duncan" stitched on the pocket in silver thread, and "Al's Haus O'Havoc" printed in silver on the back beside a cartoon of a pneumatic little barbarian girl brandishing a sword. Most of all he hated the black bowling shoes with lightning bolts painted on them.

The bowling alley was garish with florescent lights and the noise-level was deafening.

"New Horseguy, huh?" the clerk behind the desk asked. "Hey, man, nice hair."

Duncan snarled and the man stepped back.

"We the last?" Methos asked.

"Pretty much. Shoppers haven't arrived yet but I hear they like to make an entrance."

"I will not blow my cool," Methos chanted, "I will not blow my cool. C'mon MacLeod."

"Shoppers? Why are they called "Shoppers?"" Duncan asked. His heart sank further when he saw Kronos, Caspian and Silas all similarly attired, hovering around the scorekeeper, a pleasant-looking woman in a black leather skirt, black sateen shirt ("Silas' Squeeze") and pink angora sweater. Silas looked up as they approached. "Brother!"

Everyone looked up.

"Sorry," said Silas. "I meant Methos. Hello, Duncan."

"Hi, Silas."

"Duncan, do you remember Bobbi Jean?"

"I'm not sure I've had the pleasure," Duncan admitted, rather taken aback by Silas' surprisingly urbane demeanor. That and he was looking cleaner than usual. "Happy to meet you, Bobbi Jean," he said, meaning it.

"Good to meet you, too, Duncan. I'm the scorekeeper for tonight."

Suddenly there a voice drifted down from the desk. "Oh, barf me out, is that THEM?"

The five Horsemen looked up. The Shoppers had arrived. Duncan heard a lot of murmuring in the crowd, and just as he made out the name they were all saying, he heard Methos whisper it.

"Byron."

***

Amanda's mood matched the overcast sky. No matter how many times she went over the last month, step-by-step, she couldn't point to the moment when she had gone wrong with Peter, when she had done or said something to send him into Taylor's arms. She knew it was a terrible thing to wish for, but if she found herself as sick as Kimberly was, then perhaps Peter would understand how much he truly did love her the way Michael understood that about Kimberly…

Methos: (Clears his throat)

Araminta: Now look, you…

Methos (mildly) I think you should know that this flashback doesn't belong to any of us.

Araminta: What?

Methos: It's not our flashback. I asked Duncan and the rest of The Horsemen and they don't know what the hell it's about. And Byron? Get real, does this sound like Byron?

Araminta: So this isn't the first time you ever saw Byron?

Methos: Does it sound like my first meeting with Bryon?

Araminta: But it's got Amanda in it, it has to be one of yours.

Duncan: That is not our Amanda.

Araminta (smiles coyly and bats her eyelashes at Duncan) If you say so. We haven't been formally introduced, have we?

Duncan: (Confused) But…you're writing this. Why should we need a formal introduction?

Methos: He's sort of literal-minded. Now about this flashback, Minty. None of us mind having them, but we'd like to have appropriate ones, you know? Not someone else's

Araminta: But it's the only flashback I've got. Look. (She displays her Desktop Flashback Collection ™ which has only this one entry on the page.) You people have pretty much used up all your history with each other. This must be Byron's; it's probably just something he's never told you about.

Byron: It's not mine. Why in the name of all that's holy would I call myself Amanda or Kimberly? Can we bowl?

Araminta: Look, will you people check? I paid a lot for this collection.

(With a few heavy sighs on all sides, flashback diaries are consulted.)

Caspian: Here, you have one of mine, Silas! Give it back.

Silas: It's not yours.

Caspian: It is!

Kronos (Tears diary page in half and gives a piece to each man.) Don't you two ever stop?

Methos: Look, it's not ours. Now will you either give us a pertinent flashback or let us get on with the tournament? I don't want to be here all night.

Araminta (Grumbles) All right, all right. Boy am I going to give tech support an earful…

***

Then the screaming started. From all over the bowling alley there were shrieks of excitement as Byron (Who the hell was Byron, anyway? Duncan asked himself. Do bowlers have the equivalent of mega-stars?) made his way down to the lanes with his team following close behind: Four teenage girls in the miniest skirts Duncan had ever seen.

"Who's Byron?" Duncan asked Methos who looked vaporish.

"What a wimp," Kronos growled. "You know him, brother?"

"It's Byron."

"I gathered that."

"Lord Byron."

"Lord Byron? The Lord Byron?"

"What's he lord of, the cosmetic counter?" Kronos asked, leaving Duncan with a new respect for the man's sense of humor if not his education.

"Lord Byron, the poet," Methos snapped.

"He bowls?" Duncan asked.

"Poet, schmoet, he wears too much eye makeup."

But Byron had seen Methos, too, and was on his way over to speak to him. "Doc!"

"Gordo."

"Gag me," said one of the girls. "You know these dweebs?"

Byron ignored her "Is this," he asked Methos, making an offhand gesture, "your team?"

"Uh, yes."

"Ohhhh yyyessss," drawled his lordship, raising an elegant brow as he noticed Duncan's hair. "The girls are mine," Byron said with another offhand gesture towards the group of girls that had formed around him. Though each girl had accessorized her uniform to be unique, they were all dressed in yellow and white polka-dot tights, bright yellow mini-skirts, billowy white poet shirts (in honor of Byron, Duncan supposed) and yellow suspenders. Byron wore trousers instead of skirt and tights, but they were bright yellow, too. It clashed a little with his sallow complexion.

"Hi," said Methos. "I'm Death. These are my team-mates, War,"

Silas waved.

"Famine,"

Caspian, who hadn't been the same since Bobbi Jean had flattened him with her knitting bag, just stared.

"Pestilence,"

Kronos growled, causing some feminine mirth.

"And Duncan."

"Hi girls," Duncan said, causing even more feminine mirth.

"And our scorekeeper, Bobbi Jean."

"Like, I guess no one told you guys that Death Metal was, like, totally not in anymore," said the blonde with the shortest skirt and the longest nails. "I'm Tyffani, that's like Buffy, Cher and Ashley. Let's bowl, Horsedorks."

The first frame went well. Kronos was first up and made a strike. He preened a little in front of Methos and Duncan decided that he didn't like the man after all. Up next, Silas also got a strike and Bobbi Jean rewarded him with a big kiss. The Shoppers weren't doing as well with one spare that was easily picked up and one split that wasn't.

Methos picked up his spare without breaking a sweat, but Caspian's ball didn't even get to the pins, mostly due to the fact that it wasn't a ball at all, but something that resembled a skull.

"What the hell is that?" Duncan hissed at Kronos who rolled his eyes.

"We always let him play the first frame with that ball. He's superstitious."

"OhmyGAWD, like, it's a skull!" Buffy shrieked.

"What style!" Byron drawled. "I am consumed with envy. I shall compose a poem upon it."

All the girls on the team went glassy-eyed and even Duncan sat up a little straighter. An extemporaneous poem from Lord Byron? After two hundred years? History was about to be made.

Thou once-majestic, teeming vault,  
Which lesser poets oft exalt,   
I see thee in quite a different way,   
Filled to the brim with matter gray,   
Delicious with a little salt.

It wasn't quite what Duncan had expected, and there were a few murmurs of "euuuuuu" from the girls, but Byron didn't seem to notice. Caspian, who had scurried down the lane to retrieve his ball, just stared at the poet, and Duncan found himself reminded – somewhat uneasily, if truth be told – of the expression in the eyes of a wolverine in heat. He shuddered.

"You understand," Caspian whispered as he handed the skull to Byron. "I had it made 'specially," he said, staring hard at the poet. "I want you to have it."

Byron slipped his fingers into the holes made by the eye sockets and the filed-down nasal cavity. "Ahhhh, what a superb gift. Weighted with the finest Italian marble?"

"Lead."

Byron grimaced delicately. "I shall always cherish it," he promised. "You may go now."

Caspian backed away. Strange electrical things were happening with his hair, and Duncan made a mental note not to touch Caspian unless he was grounded. Not that he had much desire to touch him to begin with.

"Oh god, he's in love," Kronos groaned. Bobbi Jean patted his arm.

"He'll grow out of it," she told him.

Byron stepped up to the line, and Methos, watching every move the man made, felt a flashback coming on like a recurrence of a bad cold

***

"Now that you know what you are," Methos said to Byron, "your way should be clear."

"And you'll be my teacher?"

"For a time," Methos agreed. He was drawn to this man and his strange talents in ways he didn't entirely understand. "And your first lesson is this: You can never stop striving to better yourself because there is always someone waiting to best you."

Byron looked skeptical. "Surely it's about more than work? I expected this to be fun."

"Fun?" Methos mused on the notion. "It can be," he admitted. "I've done it for so long, that sometimes I forget. But until you're secure in your abilities, …"

"But you'll be by my side." Byron had a seductive side to which Methos was not entirely immune. He steeled himself against the poet.

"I can't do it for you!"

Byron's reply was an indulgent smile. "You give me inspiration. Very well, teach me, then."

And Methos was a hard taskmaster, correcting Byron's stance over and over, criticizing his follow-through, pushing him hard because he knew that real life would be even less kind to the young man.

Finally, one day, he was able to say, "I've taught you all I can. It's up to you now. I leave you with one word of warning: Choose your equipment as if it was a lover. Keep it close, know it intimately. Sleep with it by your side. Don't ever let yourself be taken unaware."

Perhaps the words impressed themselves on the frivolous poet because he looked gravely at his teacher and nodded.

"Now, let's see what you've learned," Methos told him, and patted him on the back, sending him to meet his first real challenge, a pro bowler from Pittsburgh, whose nickname was "Crusher."

Byron stepped up to the line…

(This flashback came to you through the courtesy of Noogie's Flashbacks Inc., the alternative source for all your media-ready memories. "When we get through with you, you will remember the Alamo." Visit us on the web at: http://www.noogsterama.com/flashmebackbaby/)

***

He lined up his shot, he swung and the ball spun down the lane in an erratic, swiveling pattern.

"He's not very good, is he?" Bobbie Jean whispered as Byron's ball clipped a few pins, only one of which actually went down.

"That's good for us, right?" Duncan asked. "Methos? Methos!"

Methos buried his face in his hands. "Two hundred fucking years and he can't even bowl straight enough to hit the head pin," he groaned. "He never was very good."

The full import of his words sank into Duncan's brain. "You…you were his teacher?"

Methos nodded miserably. "He was the worst bowler I ever coached."

"Maybe we should hire you to coach all our opponents," Kronos snapped.

"Sod off."

"He would have done better with my skull," Caspian muttered.

"Someone should get some use out of it," Kronos agreed.

As Duncan got up to bowl, the Horsemen were considerably ahead of the Shoppers. Duncan positioned himself. He checked his stance. He measured the distance to the pins with his eyes, and made lightning-fast calculations. He began to move in one superb, beautifully integrated Zen-like swing…and then someone groped him, and he forgot to release the ball as it headed down the lane with Duncan's hand and arm…and the rest of him attached.

He got up to huge hoots of laughter from both teams.

"All right, hews tha joker?" he asked, his accent thickening faster than snot in flu season. He glared at the Shoppers until Tyffani snapped at him.

"Eu, as if! Get over yourself. It was totally one of your Horsedorks, rainbow boy, not us."

"Which one?"

"Like, does it make a difference? They totally look alike."

"Och, aye and so do you girls," he snapped. "With yer perfect fookin' hair and yer perfect fookin' nails…" He was about to say more but Methos clapped a hand over his mouth and led him back to their seating area.

"Like, I am so sure!" Tyffani yelled at him.

"He is, like you know, such a total drag," Cher agreed.

"I think he's totally an awesome bohunk," Ashley said, and the others turned on her.

"Well, DUH!" Cher said, but Ashley stood her ground.

"He is like totally bitchin' and I am just like, buggin' that you shoppers do not get it. This is not your father's dweeb," she insisted.

Buffy emerged as the voice of reason. "Hel-lo? Like, I don't want to be a total drag, but we have dweeb problems of our own. Byron may be a bohunk, but like, oh my GAWD he is the worst bowler! We could pick up some young dork in the mall and do better, and… ohmyGAWD, I like totally chipped a nail!"

Silas stepped up to take his second frame shot and made another strike. He did that for every frame, and by mid-game was the only one on either team who could bowl a perfect game. Duncan was impressed. "Did you know he could do that?" he asked Methos.

Methos shook his head. "Silas is always surprising us," he admitted.

Since he began to use a regulation ball, Caspian had improved somewhat, and Kronos was a good, solid competitor who had an unfortunate habit of trying to sabotage the opposing team in between turns. Unfortunately for him (and fortunately for The Shoppers) the drugged soda he had sent to them went untouched. ("Is this like with sugar?" "I am totally a latte individual." "Euuuu.")

"Chivalry died for a reason, MacLeod," Methos observed.

"He was trying to drug them! That's not chivalry."

"Don't pick nits, MacLeod," Kronos warned, spinning a bowling ball on one finger.

"How does he do that?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Just don't be under it when it stops spinning."

Which it did just at that moment when all the horsemen looked up, alerted to a new immortal presence by the buzz from the audience.

"Ohnooooo," Duncan groaned as he recognized Cassandra. Visions of blood and mayhem filled his head as the bowling ball hit his foot. "Oh bugger, you broke my toes!"

"Don't worry Mac." Methos waved at her and she shot him a coy little smile and waggled her perfectly manicured fingers at him. "It's all taken care of."

"She's smiling at you again, brother," Kronos observed. "What's going on?"

"I just did her a little favor. We're back on speaking terms."

Duncan stared at her; she was obviously flirting with Methos. "I'd say speaking was the least of it," he remarked.

"Who is that exquisite creature?"

The three of them turned to find Byron standing in their midst.

"Eh? You mean Cassandra?"

"Cas-san-dra…" Byron intoned. "A goddess, a muse. She walks in beauty…"

"Oh please," Kronos grunted. "You'd be better off with Caspian."

"Caspian who?"

There was a squeak of unhappiness from Caspian just as Cassandra made her way down to the lanes. "Hello boys," she purred, her eyes on Methos. "I thought I'd come to cheer you on."

"Are we speaking again?" Duncan asked.

"You and I aren't, no," she snapped. "Hello, who is this attractive gentleman?" she asked, eyeing Byron. "Someone introduce us."

"Oh, milady, no introduction is necessary for me. You are Aphrodite incarnate!" He captured her hand and let his lips brush the back of it.

Then, unbelievably, Cassandra blushed. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

Kronos growled again. "Cassandra, that's Lord Fucking Byron slobbering over your press-on nails. Can we get on with this?"

"You always were fast off the mark, Kronos," she said with poisonous sweetness. "What's wrong with Caspian?"

They all turned just in time to see him fling himself down the lane and hit the headpin with his own head. Pins flew everywhere.

"Strike!" Silas shouted.

"As if!" screamed the Shoppers. "It totally wasn't his turn and he didn't even use a ball!"

"Oh who cares?" Byron told them. "Let them have the strike. In fact, let them have the game. I crave nothing more than a kind word from my lady's sweet lips."

Both teams gaped at him.

"Are you forfeiting?" Methos demanded as he watched Caspian being swept away with all the downed pins. He didn't like to think what was happening to his brother behind the scenes.

"Am I, sweet lady?"

Cassandra looked at Methos who was nodding. "Yes, I believe you are."

"Yes I am," Byron announced, kissing her palm. There were shrieks of rage from the Shoppers.

"Hel-lo? This is totally not fair!" Tyffani screamed. "Using balls that are like not regulation and then totally throwing some aging dweebette at our team captain!"

" 'Aging dweebette?'" Cassandra's gaze shifted snakelike to the girls almost all of whom had the sense to back off a few steps. "Ohmygawd we are like seriously overdue at the mall," Ashley announced. Only Tyffani stood her ground.

"Totally," she taunted.

Duncan saw the glitter of a sword, took a good, long look at Tyffani whose idea of accessorizing the Shopper uniform was to add a hot pink plastic belt with rhinestone studs, several pounds of plasic beads in various colors and a hat that looked like something Dr. Seuss might have drawn in a fever-dream, and made a swift decision to allow Cassandra to improve the gene pool. He said to Methos, "Want a beer?"

"I'm with you," Methos replied and they dashed up over the seats in the stands and into the welcoming darkness of the sushi-Karakoe bar next door.

Two rounds of sake and a Sapporo later, Kronos found them in a booth way in the back. He slid in beside Duncan and ordered "two of whatever they're having."

"What happened?"

"Well…Caspian's heart is broken but he has a new lucky ball."

"Euuuu."

"Cassandra and Byron have disappeared together – how did you manage to get back on speaking terms with her, brother?"

"Remember the lamp?"

"You gave her my lamp?" Duncan demanded.

"Did you want it?"

"Well no, but…"

"Then shut up about it."

"Pity," Kronos said, leering at Duncan. "We had some fun with that lamp, didn't we?"

For a moment, Duncan went glassy-eyed, then shook his head. "Sorry, I was too drunk to have a flashback."

Kronos made a baa-ing noise and Methos snorted up his beer.

Just then Silas and Bobbi Jean arrived, not only with Caspian in tow, but with the surviving Shoppers. They all jammed into the booth.

"That was like mondo weird," Ashley said, trying to squeeze past Methos to get to Duncan and only managing to get as far as Methos' lap. "Some guys with these like totally bitchin' tattoos came and took Tyff. And like, y'know, when I had to call her parents to like tell them that she would totally not be home for breakfast, they said they understood and everything was like taken care of."

Caspian was rocking back and forth, clutching his bowling bag. There was a strand of blue plastic pearls leaking out of it. No one liked to think about what was inside. "Brother, why don't you put that on the floor?" Silas suggested.

"Are there going to be any more joining you?" the cocktail waitress asked as she set Kronos' drinks down in front of him. "And what can I get you all?"

"Two of whatever he's having," everyone said.

Beer and sake are very good lubricants. A round or two later and no one cared what Caspian had in his bowling bag.

"I think it's time to sing," Duncan said. Methos just stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "MacLeod, you are drunk."

"Am not."

"Oh let him sing, brother," Kronos hiccupped.

"I want to sing!" Caspian announced, and he climbed over the table to get to the stage.

"Oh oh…"

"What?"

"Have you ever heard him sing?" Kronos asked, stuffing cocktail napkins in both ears.

A moment later, Caspian's voice boomed out over the sound system: I see trees of green, red roses too/I see them bloom for me and you/And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

As voices went it was pretty awful, but what boggled Duncan's mind was the choice of lyric. "Does that sound like something Caspian should be singing?"

Bobbi Jean pulled the napkins out of Kronos' ears. "Now you boys be nice. He's had a difficult evening and he's very sensitive. He is trying to be upbeat about it all."

Despite some hecklers, who shut up pretty fast when Silas went to their table and asked if they thought they could do better with twenty-six inches of steel shoved up their butts, and the tears pouring down his face, Caspian did manage to finish the song, and he got a round of applause for his bravery if nothing else.

"You know he's like totally weird, but he's kind of cute in a Marilyn Manson sort of way," Cher decided. "I never liked Tyff much. She couldn't accessorize for shit."

By that time, Duncan had had another few glasses of sake and despite Methos' best efforts to keep him in his seat, he made it to the stage in time to get the microphone from Caspian, no small feat for a man in his condition.

"Thank you, thank you," he said. "The Horsemen are pleased that you enjoyed the vocal stylings of Caspian. And now I'd like to sing something for my brother, Methos. Hit it!" he said to no one in particular.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras

Il me parle tout bas,

Je vois la vie en rose.

 

Il me dit des mots d'amour,

Des mots de tous les jours,

Et ca me fait quelque chose.

 

"Ohmygod," Methos groaned.

Kronos, who had just ordered sushi for everyone, grabbed the last handful of cocktail snacks and popped a few in his mouth. "Well he's no Edith Piaf," he said with an unpleasant smile.

"Like…you and he are cake boys?" Ashley asked Methos. "I am totally buggin'!"

"What makes you think that?"

"I am like sitting on your lap," she pointed out.

"Cake boys?" Kronos asked with a snort. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"You know, Friends of Dorothy," Buffy explained.

"Not like totally," Methos said with an amused hiccup. "Not like Kronos here."

Kronos stopped chewing. "What?"

There was a lot of giggling from the girls. "Not that there's anything wrong with it," Buffy told him. "Be yourself." She patted Kronos on his leather-clad shoulder and sighed.

"Are you going to pay attention or not?" Duncan asked from the stage.

"Oh, sorry cheri!" Methos shouted.

Il est entre dans mon coeur

Une part de bonheur

Dont je connais la cause.

 

C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui

Dans la vie,

Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

 

"What was that all about?" Kronos hissed as the girls turned their attention to Duncan.

"Shopper bootie, brother. Make her think she's the one who can straighten you out."

Kronos stared in frank admiration. "You're just fucking brilliant."

"I know."

Et des que je l'apercois

Alors je sens en moi

Mon coeur qui bat

 

The music went on playing, but Duncan stopped singing and lobbed the microphone at Methos' head. "If you can't be bothered, neither can I!" he yelled.

Kronos leaned in towards Buffy. "You're very understanding," he said, taking her hand between his.

Silas picked up the mike and strode up onto the stage. "Thanks Mac, for that heartfelt rendition of "La Vie en Rose." Wasn't he wonderful, ladies and gentlemen?" There was some half-hearted applause as Mac went weaving back to the table. "I said, wasn't he wonderful?" Silas asked again and this time the applause was more spirited. "That's better. And now I'd like to offer the following song to my lady-love, Bobbie Jean." He struck a Frank Sinatra-like pose and began to sing:

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom  
When the jungle shadows fall  
Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock  
as it stands against the wall.  
Like the drip, drip, drip of the raindrops  
when a jungle shower is through.  
So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you.

Bobbie Jean blushed and laid her hands against her cheeks. She looked pleased and embarrassed all at once. Everyone else just stared as Silas belted out the best of Cole Porter in a voice as clear and fine as Mario Lanza's though just a bit darker.

"My god, he can sing," Methos muttered. "I never knew that."

Night and day...

When he finished, blew a kiss to Bobbi Jean, and the whole bar went crazy with applause and screams of appreciation. The other patrons were on their feet whistling, stomping and showing their appreciation by shouting for him to go on and sing another one.

"Just lately," Kronos said to Buffy, "I've been questioning my sexuality…"

Duncan was checking every pitcher of sake on the table to see if anyone had any left. "What's this?" he asked, picking up a maki roll with legs sticking out of it.

"Sushi. Spider-maki, I think," Methos told him. "Duncan, you've had enough to drink."

"Aire yu implyin' tha I can't hold m'liquor?" the Highlander demanded in his best "Hoot mon, whair's me heid?" voice.

"Nobody can hold more than a couple of cups of sake. The stuff is lethal."

Up on stage, Silas belted out "Begin the Beguine."

Kronos was moving in for the kill. "When I saw you tonight, I felt an unfamiliar hunger…"

"Get over yourself, Kronos," Buffy told him. "You're a totally lousy liar. You want to do the wild thing or not?"

"Totally," he told her.

"Like, let's go get horizontal," she suggested and they slipped out of the booth and into the darkness.

Methos watched as Duncan began to peel off his bowling clothes.

"I hate this shirt!" he was growling, ripping the buttons off one-by-one.

"Bobbi Jean, can you get Ashley and Cher home?"

There were groans of disappointment from the girls, but Bobbi Jean shushed them. "Oh sure, honey," she told Methos. " Silas and I will drop them wherever they need to go."

Methos gathered up a big plate of sushi. "C'mon Dunkie, Dunkie, Dunkie," he coaxed., laying a piece of sushi on the floor as Duncan flung his shirt onto the stage. The appearance of the shirt provoked a flurry of underwear tossing from the audience members that nearly unhinged Silas. Methos backed out of the bar, leaving a trail of maki rolls behind him. He laid the plate with the last few pieces on the ground near the T-bird and climbed in the back seat.

Duncan followed the sushi trail out to the lot, and his alcohol-fogged brain managed to register that not only was he close to the car, but that the back door was open. He stood there in his underwear, munching on a piece of futomaki and wondering what to do next.

"Dunkie, Dunkie, Dunkie," came the soft, coaxing voice from the back seat.

The Highlander smiled and got into the back seat, closing the door behind himself.

***

"Hey!"

The persistent knocking at the car door finally persuaded Methos to roll down the fogged window. It was the guy from the desk.

"You okay in there?" he asked, peering into the darkness. Methos doubted he could see Duncan very well since the car was parked in the shadows and Duncan's head was…down. (Methos just loved wasabe blow-jobs; they were so…tingly.)

"Uhhh, yuh."

"Yeah well, hate to bother you considering…"

"Oh god, my leg's asleep," Duncan moaned.

"Yeh?"

"The boss asked me to tell you Horseguys not to come back."

"What?"

"My fookin' foot's caught between the door and the seat!"

"What was it? The dead body? That won't happen again," Methos promised.

"You said that last time."

"Oh. Yeah, that's right. Sorry."

"Actually that wasn't it."

Duncan began to try to work his foot free and the car began to rock again.

"Then what was it?"

"He stuffed his bowling shoes into the cappuccino machine," the desk guy said, nodding at Duncan's shadowy form.

"UnH!" Duncan grunted as his foot came free and he fell onto the floor.

"And when the waitress tried to give him the bill for all that sushi, he tied her up with his leather pants."

"I'm really sorry. I'll send a check for the sushi, I promise. How much was it?"

"Fookin' foot," Duncan grumbled.

"Eh, it's taken care of. Your friend, the one with the voice? Well there was a record promoter in the audience and he offered your buddy a contract. He picked up the tab for your whole table. Anyway, I think you guys need to lie low for a while. Sorry man."

"Okay, well thanks for letting me know."

"It's nothin' man." The desk guy disappeared back into the shadows.

Methos managed to pull his shorts on and climb into the front seat. "I've got to get you home, MacLeod, before you cause any more mayhem. I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"Lorrrrrd Byron," Duncan intoned from the back. "You didn't tell me you knew him." A pair of well-shaped feet appeared on the back of the passenger seat. "I love his stuff. Totally. Listen:

TITAN! Like, oh my gawd! to whose like, immortal eyes  
The sufferings of bitchin' mortality,  
Seen in their totally sad reality,  
Like, were not as things that y'know, gods totally despise;  
What was like, you know, thy pity's recompense! I mean, as IF!  
A silent suffering, and really totally intense;  
The death metal rock, the vulture – euuuu - and the chain which was on sale at the mall,  
Like totally what the proud shopper can feel of pain and ickiness,  
The agony they do not show unless they like break a nail?  
The totally suffocating sense of like, woe…

"Duncan!"

"Hmmm?"

"Please stop."

There was a long silence. Then the feet disappeared and Duncan's head appeared in their place. "So, like, about that lamp and Cassandra…"

"She wanted it. Even after the enchantment wore off."

"Are you ever going to threaten me with that thing again?" Duncan asked in a voice that suggested not only that he was a lot less drunk than Methos had thought, but that he was feeling fairly evil.

"Nope. Scout's honor."

"And you'll make things right between me and Cassandra?"

"Swear it."

"I'll remember that," MacLeod promised. "So…"

"So?" Methos didn't know if he should be relieved or not. Duncan clearly wasn't done with him.

"So how do you suppose we can get Kronos back for a little hey nonny on the greensward?"

Methos smiled and said, "Baaaaaaaaaa."

\- Like, the end -


End file.
